Cover
title page
Blood Vine
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Amber Belldene
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Omnific Publishing
Dallas
Copyright Information
Blood Vine, Copyright © 2013 by Amber Belldene
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
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Omnific Publishing
10000 North Central Expressway, Dallas, TX 75231
www.omnificpublishing.com
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First Omnific eBook edition, January 2013
First Omnific trade paperback edition, January 2013
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The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
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Belldene, Amber.
Blood Vine / Amber Belldene – 1st ed
ISBN: 978-1-623420-05-5
1. Romance—Fiction. 2. Paranormal—Romance. 3. Vampires—Romance. 4. Vampire Hunter—Romance. I. Title
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Cover Design by Micha Stone and Amy Brokaw
Interior Book Design by Coreen Montagna
Dedication
For my mother, who is my constant inspiration
Chapter 1
THE HUNTER CROUCHED close to the ground. As lights came on inside the house, a wall of windows gave him a perfect view of two figures. His breath hitched. The males were tall by human standards and they stood in what appeared to be a dining room. The dark-haired one was Andre Marasović. The blond must be the son. After nearly two centuries, his people had finally found the vampires. He wanted to laugh aloud, but that would be certain death.
He hid behind the trunk of a thick tree on the edge of the vineyard. An inky, moonless sky left him in complete darkness, but he didn’t dare approach. He was there only to confirm. He took his phone out of his pocket and, careful not to let its light be seen, typed a message: “Marasović and son are here.” As soon as he pressed send, his deeply bred instincts told him to attack, but alone, he was no match for the powerful creatures.
The wind shifted abruptly, and his stomach sank. He squeezed his eyes shut and whispered a silent prayer. Please, don’t let them smell me.
When he opened his opened his eyes, both figures faced him through the window. The vampires exchanged words and sprinted toward the door. Seconds later, another door slammed. The Hunter ran into the vineyard at full speed. Vines lashed his face as he hurled himself forward, hoping he had enough of a head start to reach his car. Shoes scuffed the dry earth in front and behind him. They had surrounded him with impossible speed.
Like a firecracker going off in his brain, he knew he was going to die.
To die on the Hunt was the greatest honor, though it offered little solace at the moment. That smug son of a bitch Ethan had been right—he shouldn’t have come alone. Blood pounded in his ears. Would they make him watch while they ripped out his entrails?
One of the vampires called out to him from the darkness. “Hunter, don’t they teach you to stand downwind?”
Words pressed against the lump in his throat.
“Too bad for you,” the other said.
Then they were on him. One pushed him to the ground and placed a knee into his back. Dirt and dust filled his mouth, choking him, and he spit, trying to get the grit out. A hand gripped his shoulder and flipped him.
He looked up into the eyes of his target.
“It will have to be gory,” said Andre Marasović. “If we do not make an example of him, they will think they’ve won.”
“Can’t have that,” the son said.
“Kill him first. Then we will make our example.”
Surprise was the last emotion to flutter through the Hunter’s heart—a vampire had shown him mercy.
Chapter 2
ZOEY PORTER’S FEET were freezing as she stood on the polished concrete floor of Ethan’s kitchen. Wearing only his dress shirt, she poured a cup of coffee and hoped the strong brew would warm her from the inside out. She tiptoed to the boxy white leather sofa, trying not to wake him. As she set her mug on the glass coffee table, her arm brushed against its metal frame and she shivered. The damn thing was even colder than the floor. She’d been in airports more comfortable than his stark, modern living room.
Her gray wool coat was draped over the back of the couch and she pulled it over her legs.
What the hell she was doing there? She’d sworn off Ethan a hundred times. Spending another night with him made her feel like a skipping record.
She had an early brief at the office, and then she could be on the road by ten a.m. If she hurried back to her place—
The sound of the water running in Ethan’s bathroom warned her he was awake. When he appeared in the doorway, he ran his eyes over her and something like possessiveness flashed in them. Her hands closed over the fine cotton of his shirt, drawing the collar together. She should have gotten back into her own things, even if it meant squeezing into the snug blouse and slacks she’d worn yesterday.
Ethan wore black silk pajama bottoms that slid over his muscular thighs and revealed a growing erection. She did love his swimmer’s shoulders and the way his square jaw made him look like an all-American athlete, but it was time to go. Too quickly, he was beside her on the couch. He kissed her temple, but didn’t stop there. Her heart sped up a little as he licked her lips apart and cupped her breast.
That was how it always happened. Every night that Ethan invited her over, the heat of his body tempted her away from the empty bed waiting for her at home. But each time she woke up next to him, she would gladly give back every pleasure to be alone in her own apartment instead. And, if things went wrong between them, it could jeopardize her job, which was pretty much the only thing she cared about.
At least she had that new account waiting for her in Sonoma County. She was looking forward to it—the perfect chance to bury herself in work and escape Ethan at the same time.
“I need to go home and pack for my trip.”
His broad-shouldered embrace pinned her against the couch, and she tensed as he kissed her earlobe.
“Ethan, I’m serious. I have to go. I should have packed last night.”
“One of the advantages of sleeping with your boss is that he doesn’t mind if you’re late.” He nuzzled her neck. “You’re sexy when you’re all business.”
“Nice try.” She made certain her tone invited no argument as she pushed his shoulders away. “And, Ethan, I’m always all business.” She stood and headed to his bedroom to pull on day-old panties and wrinkled clothes. As soon as she was dressed, she left his high rise and headed back to her neighborhood.
Wisps of fog drifted down her street, and she shivered against the cold ocean wind. A classic summer day in San Francisco. A lonely leaf blew into the otherwise swept-clean entryway of her Victorian apartment building, which opened onto her steep stairway. Inside, she set down her purse and briefcase, kicked off her pumps, and picked up the mail. Shoes in one hand and junk mail in the other, she climbed upstairs with heavy legs. She could really use another two hours of sleep. At the top, she sorted through clothing and furniture catalogs.
A square green envelope dropped to the floor. Postmark: Nevada. Aunt Pearl. Eyes misting, she put the card down on her kitchen table, pressing it with her palm. She didn’t need to open it. It would be Snoopy on his doghouse, and inside it would say, “Best wishes o
n your birthday.” Every year since Michael had died it was the only birthday greeting she got. It was touching in a somewhere-a-stranger-remembers-me kind of way.
After a shower, she stood before the mirror on her closet door, wrapped in her towel, and looked closely at her face. Thirty-one, and it showed in the laugh lines at the edges of her eyes, from all the laughing she didn’t do, and the tiny creases around her mouth.
She didn’t mind. They were a badge of honor.
I’ve survived. Four years alone, and no more visits to the hospital, to boot.
If those signs of age and an ill-advised affair were the worst she had to show, then she was going to kick thirty-one’s ass.
In the apartment below, the radio played some dance music. Her toe tapped to the beat.
She unwrapped her black wool skirt from its dry cleaner’s plastic and slipped it on. The lining felt cool against her thighs, and she rubbed her legs together to enjoy the satin’s softness as she peered into the closet. Running her finger over blouses in various shades of white, ivory, and gray, she picked one that looked crisp and professional, but comfortable enough for a car ride. As she pulled out the shirt, she stuck to her daily ritual and squeezed her eyes shut. She was always careful not to look behind the curtain of hanging clothes, to where the skeletons hid in her closet.
Finally, she held up two pairs of shoes. The pumps were better for kicking ass. But she was going to a winery, so the kitten heels were probably more practical. Plus, they were red and it was her birthday. So what if she wasn’t having a party? Slipping them on, she clicked them together like Dorothy and headed for the door.
Zoey’s secretary, Justine, handed her the Kaštel Estate Winery file and then poured her a cup of coffee. After a sip, Zoey said, “Thank you. I desperately need a second cup this morning.”
Justine pulled her funky pink-striped reading glasses off and looked Zoey over with an odd smile. “I have a confession.”
Zoey peered over her mug. They weren’t friendly enough for confessions. “What’s that?”
“I saw you leave with the big boss last night.” Justine’s grin was mischievous.
Zoey had been sure she and Ethan were the last ones in the office. She forced a smile. “You did?”
“Why are you sneaking around? He’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Because.” Zoey set her mug down firmly. “It’s no one’s business but mine.”
The clueless girl winked. “No prob, you can totally trust me.”
The hairs raised on Zoey’s neck, and she smoothed them down. It was nothing personal to Justine—she didn’t really trust anyone. Armed with her coffee, she headed for the door, but Justine touched her shoulder.
“Have an awesome trip. A week in wine country sounds dreamy. Enjoy it.”
Zoey nodded. It was a challenging project. Of course she would enjoy it. And she would kick its ass, just like she would kick thirty-one’s.
She met Ethan and Lucas in the conference room. Ethan looked almost as good in his suit as he had out of it. Forcing herself to glance away, she took in Lucas’s dark jeans and gray sweater. She never got used to how different the brothers were. Lucas was lean, carrying himself with a powerful feline grace, which was enhanced by his cat-like yellow eyes. They were the only feature he shared with Ethan. Lucas had told her once that their eye color was a Welsh trait, but she’d never seen irises like theirs, Welsh or otherwise.
At the moment, Lucas’s eyes were bloodshot and too round. His fingers drummed against his thigh as he ran the other hand through his light brown hair. Too much coffee?
Ethan gestured for them to sit at one end of the long conference table. Once she was seated, she smoothed her skirt, waiting for him to begin. He liked to run meetings himself. His golden eyes rested on her a moment before he spoke.
“I want Lucas to fill you in before you leave for the Kaštel Estate. He can answer any questions you may have.”
“I’m all ears,” she said.
Lucas took a deep sip of his coffee and began. “I was in a tasting room a few weeks ago when I met the assistant winemaker for Kaštel Estate. His name is Pedro Torres.”
A rare smile appeared on his face.
Ethan cleared his throat.
Lucas’s lips pinched into a line before he continued. “He told me that Andre Maras acquired a large vineyard adjacent to their estate about ten years ago. He grafted some of his Croatian Zinfandel onto those vines and he’s been nurturing them ever since. He plans to increase their production by thousands of cases and they hired us to oversee their re-branding.”
“Let me guess. They want to maintain their high-end reputation while selling bargain bottles?” she asked. “That’s not an easy thing to accomplish.”
“Actually, that’s not his goal,” Ethan said. “I spoke to Maras by phone last week. He believes the wine is exceptional. He wants our help forging an entirely new brand around its unique characteristics.”
“I read that in the file. But is there something unique about his wine?”
Lucas looked at Ethan before he answered. “I don’t know. I haven’t tasted it.”
She gripped her file in irritation. Was there something they weren’t telling her? “Well, it sounds simple enough. If the wine is really special, I’m sure we can give Maras what he’s looking for.”
“I’m not so sure,” Ethan said. “Maras’s expectations may be unreasonable.”
She straightened her spine. He didn’t usually anticipate failure. “Ethan, it’s me. I’ll succeed.”
He held her gaze and nodded. “I have every confidence in you.”
That was more like it. She always thrilled at the way they worked together seamlessly. If only it extended to his bedroom…she squeezed her thighs together at the memory of him. Oh, he could go through the motions perfectly, but there was no real connection.
Which was what she wanted.
Still, Ethan left her cold. Colder. She stood. “I’d like to get on the road.”
Both men rose from their seats, and Lucas ducked out of the room. Ethan drew a little closer to her, but the glass walls of the conference room were her protection. He wouldn’t want to be seen touching an employee.
“Don’t let Maras get to you,” he said.
Her skin broke out in goose bumps. It was definitely time to end things between them. She’d do it as soon as she came back from the job.
Glancing at the door, she said, “See you in a week.”
To put distance between them, she hurried into the hallway and down the stairs into the parking garage. Excited to begin the project, she raced through the city streets, but just across the bridge, she had to screech to a stop. All her rushing was in vain. As far as she could see, orange traffic barrels blocked off an entire lane of the northbound highway. Oh well, it gave her time to think. Rolling her head from side to side, she stretched her neck, inhaled deeply, and settled comfortably into the car seat.
A car horn blasted in her ear. Next to her, the driver of a beat up green Honda spat out words that could only be spelled with four letters.
Poor guy, he obviously hadn’t learned to cope with stressful situations. He just needed some simple breathing exercises, maybe a mantra or a visualization, and like her, he wouldn’t get so wound up. She took a few deep breaths on his behalf and wished she could share some of her calm with him. There had been a time in her life when she felt that kind of stress and anxiety, but it was long behind her.
As she crossed into Sonoma County, the sun, perpetually hidden by fog in San Francisco, shone brightly through her moon roof. She was hot and her skirt stuck to her legs. Her armpits were getting damp too, so she cranked up the air conditioner. Great way to make a first impression. Perhaps she would keep her jacket on no matter how hot it was in Sonoma.
Chapter 3
LEANING OVER THE SINK, Andre Maras scraped his razor down his cheek. Gray flecks had appeared amongst his black stubble. He rinsed them into the basin, checked the mirror, and fr
owned at the unfamiliar image. He so rarely bothered with his reflection anymore that it was a shock. The silver hair glinting at his temples showed just how weak he had become. He finally looked the way he felt—tired and old.
Nearly two centuries had passed since the Hunters had run him out of Croatia. His health had remained stable, but clearly the wasting disease was progressing more quickly. It was only a matter of time before he shriveled up and died like a frail old human.
Stepping back from the mirror, he appraised his body. Biceps narrower, ribs jutting under his pectorals, quadriceps leaner. He turned, craning to see his glutes—hollow. He used to have an ass like a bull. He was not yet gaunt, but he had lost bulk, for certain. If he were not so bloody big to begin with, he would be skin and bones. Soon he would require sleep. And eventually, he would never wake up.
All around America, his old friends from the homeland were surely asking themselves the same question. By the gods of his father, he missed them, missed the old times. How many of them had already succumbed to the disease?
Maybe, just maybe, he could help them.
But he could not quite muster enough hope to believe it.
After dressing, he found his adopted son in the wine cellar.
“You look glum,” Kos said, passing him a glass of wine. “This might cheer you up.”
Andre recognized its earthy scent, the first vintage made with grapes from their new vineyards. As he swirled it in the glass, the acid-sweet aroma enveloped him. He took a sip.
“It’s even better than it was four weeks ago,” Kos said.
The liquid coated his tongue, causing him to pucker. The sugars hit his taste buds, and all the flavors came together harmoniously. He spit into the bucket resting on a nearby barrel. “It is better. The currant, the spice, the herbs—all the flavors are there now.”
Kos took a sip. “I don’t remember the texture being so dense. Was it really this thick on the tongue? It’s like syrup; it’s just like—”
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